The troupe bade farewell to the Seer, rushing back over the rocky bridge and into the bustling center of Gildenhall.
There was action aplenty, as Dwarves of all shape, size, age, and gender were girding for battle. Male and female alike were donning leather jerkins and tying back their hair into braids or ponytails to lessen distraction and make their helms fit better. Chain mail vests came next, followed by swords, axes, and maces. The noise was overwhelming for the quiet Thimble Downers, but they were fascinated by the battle talk all around them.
“Are all the Dwarves going to war?” asked Dorro.
“Hardly, friend,” laughed Aramina, “We’ve been battlin’ goblins, wolves, and trolls long enough to know what deceivers they are. Surely, they’re going south to your lands, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a reserve force to lay siege to Gildenhall and the other Dwarf cities. Many will stay behind to protect our lands.”
“What should we do?”
“You should prepare, Mr. Dorro. You and yer young friends.” Aramina was no longer in a jovial mood. “You’ll all need to fight. Our force will leave in a few hours and race southwards to the Great Wood. With a bit ‘o luck, we will reach Thimble Down before the goblins do.”
“Move along smartly, Mr. Dorro, move along,” crowed Crumble, gesturing for him and his young friends to follow. “We must suit you up and find fast ponies.”
In short order, the Thimble Downers were led to the armory and fitted with small Dwarf jerkins and shirts of mail to protect them from arrows and sword thrusts to the body. Helmets were placed on their heads for added protection, and short chain-mail skirts were fitted around their middles.
Dorro felt a little foolish in all the military gear, but didn’t want to be any more trouble than he’d already been. Thankfully, he reflected, the Seer had not tossed him into the chasm for his insolence.
Next came a magnificent meal, possibly their last for quite a while and for some, their last ever. Crumble, Aramina, and Orli each wolfed down tasty roasted fowl and slow-braised goat, baked potatoes, broiled squash, and beer. The Halflings ate less, but saved some bread in their pockets for later. There would be little time for eating on the way South.
“We’re going to stage a lightning strike, if we can,” spat Aramina between ravenous bites. “We’ll confuse the goblins with a few small squadrons who will act like advance scouts and divert them from the main force. That’s where we’ll be, weaving in and out of valleys and forests for cover, but moving with great speed. If all goes as planned …”
She took an enormous bite out of a lamb shank.
Crumble picked up the thread, “… if all goes as planned, the goblins should think Thimble Down is undefended and be unprepared for a Dwarf army to hit them from the West—fast, deadly, and without mercy.”
“And with Malachite Molly at their head!” howled the Dwarf warrior. “By that time, I’ll be chompin’ on the bit to lop some beans off with me axe and sword. But best you stay more than twenty paces away from me in battle. Sometimes the battle fever takes me into a trance, and I almost lop off a Dwarf’s head or two by accident.”
She smiled sheepishly, like she’d been caught stealing sweets.
“That’s our Molly,” leered Crumble. “No better orkus chopper in the Wide Green Open.”
Suddenly, yells and bellowing broke up the conversation. Shouts of “Mount up! We ride for victory! Death to the orkus!” rang through the air and the Dwarf soldiers began running this way and that.
In minutes, they were clambering up on ponies and following the warriors upwards through the tunnel.
The Dwarf horde of Gildenhall was riding for battle.
* * *
The troops rode at breakneck speed. The Thimble Downers fell asleep in their saddles, and it was a wonder none fell and were trampled. Fortunately, the deft hands and care of Orli and a few other Dwarves kept them upright, even the younglings who were sound asleep.
During the night, Dorro was jostled awake on one occasion, so much so that he could not fall back to sleep, but was reassured to find Crumble and Aramina riding next to him. He could hear them discussing battle strategies and various throat-cutting and neck-snapping techniques, some of them quite grotesque. The bookmaster coughed a few times to alert them he was awake, spurring a change in conversation.
“How are ye faring, Mr. Dorro?” asked the ever-solicitous Crumble.
“Aside from a sore backside, not awful. Tell me, why would the goblins want to invade the Halfling counties? We can’t be of any strategic importance, nor have we any real wealth. At least none like Gildenhall.”
Aramina growled under her breath, while Crumble replied to the bookmaster’s question. “It really has nothing to do with the Halflings, but alas, hurting you would be a disaster for the Dwarves.”
“How so? I don’t understand.”
Crumble looked grim in the starlight, the ponies walking through rocky terrain in the near darkness.
“Ye see, Mr. Dorro, Dwarves—much like Halflings—have a role to play in this world. Despite the undiplomatic words of the Seer, most Dwarves have a higher regard for your species. And precisely for one verra good reason—The Great Wood.”
“The Great Wood? What does our forest have to do with this war?”
“The Wood, as ye may or may not know, is a very ancient part of our world, existing back through the millennia to the time before either Dwarves or Halflings existed. And for lack o’ a better term, those woodlands provide a gentle, balancing power that transcends us all.”
“It’s true then?” said Dorro. “I’ve sometimes wondered if there isn’t a little magic there.”
“A little?” Crumble snorted. “My dear Mr. Dorro, there’s more than a little. As I said, the lands yer folk call the Great Wood brings a certain balance to everything, as do our mountains of the North, the great seas of the West, and the dry lands of the South. They all work together to keep everything in harmony. Am I makin’ myself clear?”
“I think so—but what about the orkus? Why do they want to destroy Thimble Down and the forest?”
“Let me keep going with my tale,” replied Crumble, looking up at the stars. “The Halflings, as far as we can tell, were put in the Wide Green Open to serve an important task.”
“Us? We’re so benign, really,” said Dorro. “We just like to eat, drink, smoke, and laugh, as far as I can tell. A bit of light gardening, too.”
“’Tis true, but we see so much more. The Halflings are gardeners and woodland lovers, and in their queer way, care for the Great Wood. You are its guardians, though little do ye know it.”
“I knew it!” chirped Dorro. “I mean, I didn’t literally know, but I’ve felt it all along. There is a subtle magic in it all—I can feel it every time I step into the forest. But you still haven’t gotten to the goblins.”
“My, yer an impatient one! But such is the nature of Halflings—you only ever slow down for lunch and to pull on some Old Nob pipeweed. Now, as for the foul beasties of the East, they are attacking your villages for the very reasons I’ve offered: they want to destroy the Great Wood and the power it keeps on the land. And that, my friend, is why Dwarves and elves inhabit the Wide Green Open, too. We’re here to protect the Halflings.”
“Are you, indeed?” Dorro could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“We’re all protectors in our way. The Halflings protect a large swath of the Great Wood, really by just being who they are. Gentle, light-hearted folk who love their trees and gardens. That’s an important job right there. But the elves, as you may know, help protect the woods, as well as cover yer Eastern flank from fell beasts.”
“Towards the South, Men-folk offer a line of resistance and also sail the seas to keep marauders away from our world. And to the North, we Dwarves protect the mountains and also keep an eye on our little friends in the Great Wood, while giants keep an eye on the Grey Mountains far to the East, especially those accursed trolls. In its way, we all serve the Wide Green Open, the lands and forests, and everything that lives in it, from snakes and snails to bears and eagles.”
“Giants? Trolls? I thought they were mere fables.” Dorro was incredulous. “So if the goblins can successfully raid Thimble Down, they can cause the Dwarves to fail—and even the Great Wood itself!”
“Aye—it they had their way, they’d ride into yon forests and chop down every tree, except those that provide habitat for the animals they want to eat. The goblins’ world is one of chaos and greed—they care not for growing things, but are intelligent and formidable foes. They care not for the land, nor the world we live in. And that’s why we must fight them tooth ’n’ claw.”
“Yet the black stones from Mr. Bindlestiff’s forge began destroying the Great Wood from within.”
“I do feel horrible about that, Mr. Dorro.” Crumble’s words were grave. “Had we known we were threatening the balance of the Great Wood, we would have never been a part of his smeltery. I feel guilty enough, on top of which, I lost my brother Wump to a heartless killer.”
“You didn’t know what was to happen, Crumble. No one in Thimble Down will blame you, so long as we stop the burning of stones, and spreading polluting gases and disease-spreading vapors.”
“Still, you have my word that we shall never give the black stones to anyone outside our caves again.”
“Crumble look—the sun is coming up.” Dorro was pointing to the horizon excitedly. “Look, right over there!”
“But Mr. Dorro, you’re pointing southward; the sun is in East.”
“Then …”
Crumble stood taller in his saddle and began calling to his comrades.
“Awake! Riders, awake! War and woe are upon us. Ride for Gildenhall! Ride for the Halflings! Ride to victory!”
He bolted away on his pony, dashing towards the glow in the Southern skies.
“Aramina, what’s going on? What is that bright light?”
“’Tis not dawn’s light, my Halfling friend. It is yer Great Wood.”
The warrior known as Malachite Molly had a look of grim determination on her face.
“Them lousy goblins are burning it, right down to the ground!”